Understanding Mercy Read online

  Understanding Mercy

  Understanding Mercy

  Mercy walked to an open window and closed her eyes...

  breathing in deeply of the honeysuckle scented air. She sensed someone standing beside her and instinctively knew who it was. When she lifted her gaze to his, she again felt her heart racing in his presence as it always did—like a timid little rabbit in the presence of a dangerous wolf. The other women in the room might think Addison Berkeley an exotic jungle cat, but she knew he was just a common wolf. His deep voice held amusement as he leaned in and murmured, “The open window seemed a good idea, so I decided to copy you. I can hardly breathe.” She nodded and tried to think of what to say when he added, “The honeysuckle smells wonderful. Of all the floral scents I think I like honeysuckle the best. Well, maybe after roses.”

  “Roses and honeysuckle are my favorite scents too.” He gazed at her with his penetrating blue eyes and she mumbled nervously, “Anyone who likes roses and honeysuckle is all right in my book.” She gave him an appreciative, but shaky smile.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You have a book? Where can I get a copy? I think I would like to read it. I’m sure it’s fascinating.” He teased, “I have to admit I thought you didn’t like me, and I wracked my brain thinking of how I could redeem myself, and now I find all I had to do was like the scent of two particular flowers.” He reached out the window and snapped off a sprig of honeysuckle and handed it to her with a slight smile. “I’m glad that in this book of yours I’m all right.”

  She stammered while trying to avoid his gaze. “I…um…thank you.” Being around him made her head feel fuzzy. Why did this dangerous wolf always have to be so kind? It confused her. People were much easier when you could compartmentalize them into good and bad. But which was he? She’d made up her mind. He was bad, but maybe, just maybe, she was wrong.

  Understanding Mercy

  Understanding Mercy

  by

  Janelle Ashley

  Understanding Mercy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Understanding Mercy

  COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Janelle Ashley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or White Rose Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  White Rose Publishing

  PO Box 1738

  Aztec NM 87410

  Visit us at www.whiterosepublishing.com

  Publishing History

  The Wild Rose Press

  First White Rose Edition, 2009

  Print ISBN 1-60154-396-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Understanding Mercy

  Dedication

  To my precious daughters Chloe and Annie—

  may each of you be a lighthouse,

  an instrument of God’s love and mercy,

  a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life.

  And to Rita Davenport,

  the president of the wonderful company Arbonne—

  working with this company gave me

  the freedom I needed to write this novel.

  Thank you for everything.

  Understanding Mercy

  Prologue

  Boston, 1765

  Glittering snowflakes floated to the ground and covered the dirt and grime of the city in a dazzling display of white. One proud mother carried a little bundle in a white silk dress through the front doors of the Old North Church while a proud father and brother followed closely behind. They waved to their friends and family who streamed into the warmth of the building with joyous faces. Coaches and carriages lined the street as the bells tolled and their beautiful music drifted across the frosty air announcing to all the importance of this day.

  As soon as the family walked into the foyer, the pastor greeted them with an affectionate smile. “Good afternoon, James. Good afternoon, Elizabeth.” Looking down at the beaming little boy, he added, “Good afternoon to you too, Noah.” With a wave of his hand, he motioned to the gathering crowd and teased, “A fit audience to witness the christening of a princess, if I do say so myself.”

  “Shall we get started?” James asked.

  The pastor glanced at his pocket watch and nodded. “Yes, we should. No time like the present.” They walked to the front of the church and Pastor Thompson took Mercy out of her father’s arms and held her before the congregation. She gifted them all with a dazzling smile and women and even a few men, oohed and ahhed and gushed over her beauty.

  Pastor Thompson spoke out in his commanding voice, “We christen this child today, placing her in the wonderful, loving arms of the One who created her. May she always be loved and may she always love others. May she be guided and protected, and taught to guide and protect. My prayer is that she would become her namesake, Mercy Prudence Creed. Her surname means statement of belief, her faith. Her Christian name means compassion and kindness, and her middle name means carefulness. May this precious baby girl be someone who makes it her creed in life to carefully show mercy. May she be a lighthouse, an instrument of God’s love and mercy, a guiding beacon for others in the storms of life.”

  ****

  Across the street, Addison shivered as he crouched behind a barrel, waiting to see if the merchant selling chestnuts would leave behind the burlap sack. His threadbare coat kept him somewhat warm, but now that the snows had come, he could certainly use a piece of material. The merchant had about twenty nuts left and hopefully he would sell them quickly and leave. The boy wished the man would stand a little closer to the people streaming out of the church. They certainly looked like they had enough money to buy a few nuts. Did this merchant have no business skills at all?

  Suddenly, Addison had an idea. Trying to stop his shivering, he walked over with as much confidence as he could muster and said to the young man, “Excuse me, sir. If I help you sell those nuts within five minutes, can I have that piece of burlap, please?”

  The man stared at him questioningly. “You sure have a fancy voice for a boy dressed as a beggar. You sound like the king of England, yet you want my piece of burlap. Something isn’t right here.”

  “It’s a long story and I’ll tell it to you later if you like, but let us get these nuts sold before the fancy people leave. Here, give them to me.”

  The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How do I know you won’t just run off with the nuts?”

  “I want your burlap. Remember.”

  “How do I know you aren’t a British spy?”

  “I’m only nine.”

  “Well, let me give you the Bostonian test for spies. What animal is on the weather vane of Faneuil Hall?”

  “A thirty-eight-pound fifty-two-inch grasshopper made of solid copper and covered with gold leaf, with eyes made of glass.”

  Rolling his eyes in annoyance the man mumbled, “The answer of grasshopper would’ve been fine.”

  “We are wasting time. Hand over the bag.”

  “You certainly are a young one to be so smack sure of yourself.” Clutching onto the bag more tightly the man asked, “How old did you say you were?”

  “Nine. How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.” The man’s expression softened to a mixture of wariness and amusement. “What is your name?”

  “Addison Berkeley. What is your name?”

  “Ceci
l Branson.”

  Addison didn’t particularly feel like chatting, when there was work to be done. “So, Cecil, how much do you usually sell the nuts for?”

  “Twenty for a half pence.”

  “Well, then hand them over so I can sell them for you.”

  After several moments of considering, Cecil reluctantly handed him the sack. “If you steal them, I’ll hunt you down and thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

  Taking the chestnuts, Addison nodded. “I don’t steal, so stop worrying.” Straightening his spine, he put on a smile and walked up to a kind-looking man holding a baby and preparing to enter an elaborate coach. “Excuse me, sir, these chestnuts are hot and fresh and will warm you up on a cold day like today. And we have quite a bargain since—”

  With a look of surprise, the man with the baby cut in, “Are you from England?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “You are a long way from home.”

  “Boston is my home now,” he stated with unwavering conviction.

  “Is that so? I was born in England as well—the third son of a baron, and since I didn’t want to go into the clergy, the law, or the army, I decided to come to America to make my way.”

  His friendliness took Addison by surprise and without thinking he replied, “My father is the third son of an earl. He came to America to make his way also, but apparently he didn’t do as well as you.”

  The man’s gaze drifted down and then up slowly, and Addison squirmed with humiliation under his scrutiny. Finally the man asked, “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “I promise I am,” Addison replied with an adamant nod. “My father married for love and his family didn’t like the woman he chose, so they disowned him. Several years ago we came to America, but my mother died of yellow fever on the journey and my father has had a hard time of it. I need to get back to him right now. Sir, I sell these warm, delicious chestnuts at twenty for a pence, but since these are our last ones, you can have the whole bag for only a halfpence.”

  “That is a bargain.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a coin and exchanged it for the bag of chestnuts. “Thank you, lad.”

  “Thank you. Now I can go home.”

  A look of concern filled the man’s warm brown eyes. “Do you have a home?”

  “Yes, I do.” Addison didn’t want to tell him it was a small room above a tavern that housed more rats than humans. A room he had to pay for by scavenging around and earning money by his wits. Once in a while when his father stopped drinking he would help him earn money, but those once in a whiles were coming less and less frequently. Suddenly rumbling thunder sounded above them, and Addison glanced up in surprise and wondered aloud, “How can it be thundering, if it’s snowing?”

  It almost surprised him when the man answered, “I have only seen it happen once or twice in my lifetime. It’s called thundersnow.”

  “Thundersnow,” he echoed, while he nodded his head thoughtfully. “What do you know?” He looked around at the multitude of people milling around, and curiosity got the best of him. “What’s happening here at the church today?”

  “It’s my baby girl’s christening,” the man proclaimed bursting with pride.

  Addison’s sharp blue eyes darted around at the lingering crowd. “All these people came for that?”

  “Yes, we have many friends and they wanted to be a part of Mercy’s special day.” Bending over, the proud father held her down so Addison could admire her. “Isn’t she pretty?”

  Squinting down at the little baby Addison nodded with a slight smile. “She is pretty. Perfect, actually. She looks just like one of the dolls I saw in the window at the toy store across the street from Commons Park.”

  “When did you see it?”

  “A few days ago.”

  “Truly. I will go there tomorrow and buy it for her, then. Do you think I will know which doll you are talking about?”

  “I’m sure you will. She has gold hair like your little girl, and green eyes, and she is wearing a yellow dress. I usually don’t look at dolls, but it was next to a toy horse that I liked. A black one.”

  A smile played at the man’s lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out more coins. “Here, have some money to buy yourself a coat. It’s too cold to be standing here in the snow. I need to get my Mercy out of this weather, but you have a care, lad.”

  Addison stared at the coins in his hand in disbelief. “You are just giving these to me for nothing?”

  “Yes, I am. Good day and go get warm.” The proud father gave him a friendly wink and then he ushered his wife and young son away from a circle of friends and they all climbed into a shiny, black coach. Addison watched as it rolled away and wondered if he’d ever met a nicer man. Stuffing the coins in his pocket, he walked back to Cecil and proudly announced, “Here is your half pence. Can I have the burlap now?”

  Amazement filled his eyes. “How’d you do that so fast?”

  “I told him he was getting the nuts for half price. You need to make people think they’re getting a bargain. Plus, he is an extremely nice man.”

  Cecil stared at the road where the coach had just disappeared. “Do you know who that man is?”

  “No. Who?”

  “That’s James Creed,” he stated with obvious awe. “He’s a shipping merchant and one of the richest men in Boston.”

  With a nod Addison acknowledged the statement and then asked, “Can I have the burlap now?”

  Cecil grabbed the burlap and thrust it at him unceremoniously. “Where do you live?”

  “I live above the Toad in the Hole tavern. Where do you live?”

  “Here and there, but I’ve joined up with a ship. It’s a passenger ship. I leave in a few days for a journey to France. I’m just a cabin boy now, but soon I’ll be a sailor.”

  “Which ship?”

  “The Pale Moon .”

  “I have seen her in port. A frigate. She is a nice ship.”

  “One of the best. The Captain is looking for another cabin boy. You look strong enough. Would you like me to see if he’ll hire you on?”

  “No. I need to stay with my father.”

  “You have a father?”

  “Yes, I do.” Addison worried about his father, who had looked horrible this morning. He needed to buy some food and try to get him to eat, so he needed to be on his way. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Branson. Thank you for the burlap.”

  “I say, you have the manners of a gentleman. Such politeness,” he replied with a chuckle. “Are you sure you’re only nine?”

  “I’m sure. Good day.” Wrapping the burlap around his shoulders, he raced toward the tavern with a proud smile that with the money in his pocket he could buy a nice meal tonight for his father and a used coat for himself tomorrow. The light snowfall of earlier quickly became a blizzard, and his cheeks burned against the frigid air. Holes in the bottom of his shoes, which used to be annoying, now became painful as the icy snow stung at his feet like angry bees.

  Bursting through the door of the tavern, he made his way around the crowd and sank onto the hearth of the fireplace. His chest heaved with exhaustion as he leaned against the stones trying to allow the warmth to seep into his bones. Mrs. Humphrey waddled up and fumed, “Boy, you know these rooms are only for paying customers. Get yourself upstairs.”

  “But I am a paying customer tonight. I would like two bowls of chicken and dumplings as soon as possible.”

  When she glared at him skeptically, he held up the coins in his hand as proof. “Hurry, please. I’m terribly hungry.”

  “Hold your horses, fancy-talking boy,” she grumbled as she turned away.

  Addison sat as close to the fire as he could without getting burned, and his stomach growled impatiently as he waited for his food. His mind drifted back to the man he’d met earlier. What would it feel like to be wealthy and respected like that? Someday he would find out. Someday he would have a shipping company, and a fancy black coach, and a beautiful daughte
r. But to have a daughter, he needed a wife, and he didn’t think he wanted one of those. His father had once been a happy, strapping man until his wife died and then he just crumbled. The best way to avoid that ever happening to him was to never let a woman become important to him.

  A hand like a claw grabbed his shoulder as Mrs. Humphrey snorted, “Here, boy. I set the bowls on the table. Pay up.”

  Within seconds the coins sat in her hands, and he grabbed the bowls and ran upstairs, anxious to make sure his father had a good meal. The fire had died out and the room was pitch-black as he felt around in the darkness until he found a table and set the bowls down. He lit a chamber candlestick, hoping the light would show his father was in the room. He didn’t want to go back out in the cold looking for him.